Listen to the Sound of Dying: Fish
by Dauthi
Summary: [Mai HiME] 'And if your love should fail, well then bleed for me, my dear, dear Natsuki...' A tribute to insanity. ShizNat in a really freaky onesided way.


**_Listen To The Sound of Dying (Fish)_**

Sometimes I just have these little thoughts running around that are dark and twisted and would go great in a fanfiction if I could only piece together a plot… They're weird. Very weird. Sometimes I actually try to write these little thoughts and lines down, and it gets weirder.

OOCness abounds, probably. It's 12:30 AM and I'm writing this because even though I'm ridiculously sleepy I can't fall asleep. Shut up.

Set between the period that Shizuru goes insane. Her POV.

* * *

Scream, I whisper. Scream, and listen, as you hear the brilliant _symphony of blood and tears_, a cacophony of sounds that are music to you and I's ears. Experience the chorus of terror (Can you hear their fear, Natsuki? Can you hear their _fear_?) as they run from my mighty blade, a sharp powerful halberd with finesse and strength enough to hack through anyone, but shaped to best carve you, my dear.

Only you.

Reject my love, if you so wish, for it won't matter, there is love enough to be drained and splattered.

(_There are fishies stranded in the sea, and they will die, they will die, be lonely sad and die…_)

(Murdered)

Flowers are beautiful, are they not?

Beautiful, like a newborn's skin, soft and pale and pleasant to the touch and only skin-deep, until it lives and learns the vices of the world, the skin scarred and pitted and all grown up. Beautiful, like the rich brown earth that smells of fresh air and dung and bones and bodies that have been hidden there for centuries, decaying and rank, tainting the air with the justice of the unsolved murders. Beautiful, like translucent transcending glass that gets slammed with gritty harsh winds that grind down its intricate carvings and turn it dull and dirty, something to be smashed by an underpaid worker in a dirty dank sweatshop.

Beautiful, like the day I found you, broken and battered, and tried to raise you back to life again, because you were a beautiful thing that should not be shattered so, and I was right because you turned around and destroyed me, your green eyes haunting me in the back of my mind, where everything so cozy has been flipped about and distorted. Your kill was not graceful or elegant, but so very beautiful.

Can you hear the melody, Natsuki? They call for you, my love, sing in a forlorn voice that desires you so, because you are the only one who will ever be able to satiate them. _Angels_, they are, for they will protect you to the end of the world, and will keep true to their promise.

For you are mine, Natsuki. (Can you hear it? Can you feel the exhilaration? Can you? Can you? _Natsuki, Natsuki…_)

Mine to pain and mine to sooth, mine to wound and mine to heal, mine to kill and mine to save.

Mine to bleed. (Bleeding is the ultimate form of beauty, can you see? Blood is what truly flows _inside of you_, beautiful and real)

Mine to love.

No one will touch you. Not your mother, who nourished you and brought you into existence, then ditched you for me to claim, stripped of everything except a cracked yet beautiful core. (So vulnerable, so beautiful) Not Nao, who wants and cares not about you, but rather about you as a means to me, and neither you or I will ever allow ourselves to be sullied by another one, and especially not one as filthy and low-life as she – blackened personality and blinded eye, and saddled by a profession which is utterly disgraceful and which you, my dear, could've easily fallen into. (black and bottomless abyss) Not that evil Lord Kokuyou, so charming and so right for you, giving you every wish that you would ever like, but so ungrateful and so unbearable. (the thought of him or the thought of letting you go? _Fallen angel_)

Not even me, for you have turned away my touch and feel, wish to be dirtied by no one, and I am one with even dirtier hands than no one.

But won't you bleed for me, Natsuki? Won't you? (Can you hear? Can you hear, can you smell, can you see? Can you _feel_ the atmosphere? They're waiting.)

(Who's waiting?)

(There's a melody ringing, solid and strong, clear and upstanding, but it is so, so far away…)

(Why can't I reach the light?)

(_Fishies, fishies, stranded in the sea, one by one, dead you all are_)

Your blood liquidates all that is around you, feeds me and nourishes me, stokes a burning desire for more, and you, and the love that attempts to saturate you. Stains the air with a copper scent that fuels rage and frenzy, continues on the orchestra of blades (flutes, tattered finesse) and Childs, (violins, rotted force) torn-asunder love songs of the HiMEs, (pianos, shattered bases) swimming in a background music of blood (percussion, drained roots) and of course, created by you. (conductor, of course, my love)

I thrive off you, live vicariously through you. Without you, my dear, my love, the world would not spin, the people would not sing, the music would not play.

(_the fishies would not be alive, though they shall all be dead anyway_)

I exist only for you, Natsuki, can't you see? (Can't you see?) The only pleasure in this mockery of a life is to see you fight another day _to die another day_, notice you and feel my love for you continue to balloon and my bravery multiplied by innumerable notches, hear you and soar through the _crimson_ sky in a light-headed daze, euphoria in every single movement. The various melodies combine together to create an other-worldly symphony, but they would be nothing without you, Natsuki.

Only you.

(Scream. _One less fishie in the sea_)

And if your love should failwell then_ bleed for me, my dear, dear_ Natsuki.

Silence.

* * *

I did warn you that it would not make sense. I'm decently pleased with the imagery I've built up, which is about the only thing I can think of about this piece that makes any sense at all. 


End file.
